


Convince Me

by eirenewrites



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, singer!Katniss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-11 19:37:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1177085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eirenewrites/pseuds/eirenewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’ve subdued the districts, but nothing has changed. You are entertainment. Show up when they say show up. Sing when they say sing. Marry when they say marry.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters, they belong to Suzanne Collins and whoever else has publishing rights. 
> 
> Citations (ish): This is an alternate version of Catching Fire. Some dialogue from the original Catching Fire will be utilized.
> 
> This was originally written for a prompt on nightlock, but several thousand words later, it was just completely out of hand.
> 
> Here's the prompt: She heard the music, first. It was the music that made her realise she was truly home.

Convince Me

 

_“This has to stop. Right now. This – this – game you two play, where you tell each other secrets but keep them from me like I’m too inconsequential or stupid or weak to handle them.”_

_“It’s not like that, Peeta –“ I begin._

_“It’s exactly like that!” he yells at me. “I have people I care about, too, Katniss! Family and friends back in District Twelve who will be just as dead as yours if we don’t pull this thing off. So, after all we went through in the arena, don’t I even rate the truth from you?”_

_“You’re always so reliably good, Peeta,” says Haymitch. “So smart about how your present yourself before the cameras. I didn’t want to disrupt that.”_

_“Well, you overestimated me. Because I really screwed up today. What do you think is going to happen to Rue’s and Thresh’s families? Do you think they’ll get their share of our winnings? Do you think I gave them a bright future? Because I think they’ll be lucky if they survive the day!” Peeta sends something else flying, a statute. I’ve never seen him like this._

_“He’s right, Haymitch,” I say. “We were wrong not to tell him. Even back in the Capitol.”_

-          Catching Fire, Chapter 5

A man is dead because of me. Thresh and Rue’s families might be dead because of me. I think of Rue and how she helped me through the games – and I failed her utterly.  I haven’t just gotten her killed, I’ve gotten her whole family in trouble too.

Will this never end? Every day there is a new fear, a new impossible task. At first in District 12, it was survive. Hope the odds are in your favor.  The Hunger Games are over but Haymitch’s words come back to haunt me. It’s not just this trip. I will never be out of the Games. I will never stop being the Capitol’s pawn.

I push the food around on my plate, unable to actually lift it to my mouth. The Justice Building Hall is bright and festive. The food is an interesting mix of greens, which I expected from the agricultural district. The salad even has flowers in it. The mood at the dinner seems a little forced but lighter, probably because only the District’s better-off citizens are in attendance. It does nothing to help my mood.

I watch the dancers – they are all so skinny, much like the people in the Seam. District 11 and 12 are the poorest districts in Panem. Is it any wonder they would take any chance to end the never ending hardship. They wouldn’t last though. For all their numbers here, the Peacekeepers have weapons. What chance do a bunch of farmers have against trained soldiers with guns? It is so easy to see what will happen. They attack. The Peacekeepers fight back. Lives are lost. Best case they take down the Peacekeepers. The Capitol will just send in more Peacekeepers. If they still won’t submit, the Capitol will send in hovercrafts to burn the place to the ground, just like District 13. Sure there’ll be less fruits and vegetables for a while, but the Capitol will get by on the fish from District 4, grain from District 9, and livestock from District 10. But District 11? Gone.

Peeta’s hand on mine breaks me out of my reverie. “Try this,” he says. He lifts a fork with a strawberry and bit of cream on it. “The strawberries are so much bigger than the ones we have back home.”

I mentally kick myself. We are supposed to be in love and I’ve spent too much time staring. My lips close over the strawberry. It’s divine, but it is like swallowing a rock. I put on the most adoring smile I can manage. “Thank you for taking care of me,” I say, running my fingers through his blonde hair. It’s obscenely soft now – his prep team has had his hair swimming in conditioner, likely.

“I can think of five different pastries to make with this stuff,” Peeta notes. “Wish I could bring some home.”

“You like cooking, Peeta?” the mayor asks kindly.

“Not so much, I like baking a lot more. Baker’s boy,” Peeta replies charmingly.

“You are very lucky then, Katniss,” the mayor says. “You’ll be in cakes and pastries the rest of your life!”

“Even now he keeps trying to feed me. I’d probably spend all my time trying not to put on a hundred pounds.”

They laugh. Well Haymitch gives a sort of snort, but I think he is pleased. I am on the right track.

“Well when children enter the picture, you’ll have nothing to worry about! With two athletic creatures like you as parents! Why you’ll spend all your time running,” the mayor’s wife says.

Children were never going to happen. The marriage might, but children, never.

“Oh yes, just remember Seeder’s children!” someone else comments.

“Seeder?” I ask.

“One of the District 11 victors,” Haymitch explains. “How is the old nag?” he asks the mayor. “And Chaff, too.”

“Seeder had some business to attend to and Chaff – well, Chaff’s probably drunk and passed out somewhere,” the mayor replies. People laugh. I remember Chaff – a District 11 victor who was a friend of Haymitch’s. There is a lot of footage of them passing a bottle every year. District 11 doesn’t have a lot of victors; I suppose that’s how Haymitch got to know these two well.

I can’t help but wonder why their victors weren’t here though. Surely they are important people in District 11 society.

We make our way back to the train after the ceremonies in District 11. Effie reminds us of our schedule for the next day before sending us to bed. “It’s a bit of travel until 10, so we’ll be able to sleep late. Octavia, Flavius, Venia – you can use the day to work on Katniss!”

“What?” I ask. “What kind of work?” I’ve already been put through a full body polish and I’ve been waxed, tweezed, and threaded. Saving surgery, which Haymitch thankfully protested, I don’t know what more they can do with me.

My prep team are all nodding at Effie knowingly. “Don’t you worry honey, we’ve got you,” Venia says, putting an arm around me. “Maybe botox?” she looks at Cinna and Haymitch hopefully. I don’t know what that is, but I know I don’t want it.

“Oh that would be lovely,” Octavia agrees. “It’ll bring back some fullness into your face!” My prep team prattles on with some input from Peeta’s prep team. I notice Peeta and Haymitch use the distraction to sneak away to the dining car.  In a few minutes, their soft conversation is drowned out by the sound of a whirring blender. I’m sure it was Haymitch’s idea. Smart way not to be overheard. I wonder what they’re talking about.

“But what about the rest of her?” Venia’s hands suddenly measuring my waist jolt me back into the conversation. “We may have to take her dresses in a little. They’re already hanging lose. Do stop dieting, Katniss. You must maintain your measurements. Think of all your lovely clothes, they’ll be falling off you!”

“Do we have Botox here?” Flavius asks. “We can put it in by tonight and her face’ll be able to move by the time we reach District 10.”

My prep team turns to Cinna for the final decision.

“I think a good night’s sleep will do,” he says calmly.

Fat chance. I haven’t had a full night’s sleep since the games. “That’s a little difficult to get these days,” I say.

“I have something that will help you with that, Katniss,” Effie says kindly. She puts a bottle of pills into my hand. “Just one, mind you. It’ll put you right to sleep.”

Octavia goes to my room long enough to help me unhook the back of my dress and leaves. I’m tired. I am so tired. This day has stretched on for what seems like an eternity. Starting the tour and heading to the Capitol – even though this time the train isn’t leading me to a violent battle to the death, my traitorous brain keeps making the connection. The littlest things set my heart racing. Seeing Rue and Thresh’s families, seeing the old man murdered – nothing good comes from getting off this train. I try to remind myself this is a Victory Tour not an extension of the games. It’s silly to be afraid of being in a train. My Hunger Games are over. I survived.

Of course my darker thoughts may be justified in the end. Who knows if I’ll get out of this Victory Tour alive? I notice the guards policing the halls more now. I am sure it is because Peeta, Haymitch and I sneaked off to talk earlier. I finish getting ready for bed, scrubbing out every inch of the Capitol until I finally see the District 12 girl in the mirror. I brush and braid my hair to keep my fingers occupied. There’s something therapeutic about the motion. Divide it into three, over, under, over, under.

A knock on my door interrupts. It’s Peeta. He’s barefoot, wearing pajamas with a robe haphazardly thrown on over.

“Can I come in?” The light from outside catches his hair that has finally escaped the styling and gels that Portia and the rest of his prep team use. He looks impossibly young, every inch of sixteen. Handsome, I decide. Not in the same way Gale is, but handsome.

“Yeah.” I scoot over to make room for him on the bed.

“I wanted to apologize for yelling at you,” he starts. I put out a hand to stop him.

“You already did,” I say. “Forget about it. You don’t have to apologize again.”

Peeta is staring down. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. Haven’t been able to stop thinking.”

“You and me both.”

“Being in love isn’t going to work,” He says slowly. “The berries showed the districts you could go against the Capitol. It was a trigger, not a cause.”

I jump up in alarm. “Come here,” I tell him thinking fast. I’m fairly sure this place is bugged.

Peeta looks at me questioningly, but follows.

“Want to do something fun?” I push his robe off, take his hand and pull him towards the bathroom.

“Now?” He trails after me looking confused.

I smile at him. “Close your eyes.”

He obeys but still looks lost. “Katniss, what’s going on?”

I close the bathroom door behind me and quickly strip out of my nightgown. “Take your shirt off. But keep your eyes closed.”

“ _What?_ ” Peeta chokes out, but mercifully keeps his eyes closed.

“Trust me.” I’m uncomfortable enough as it is. Hurry up Peeta, I try to tell him mentally. Let’s get this over with. We can’t get off the train and I’m pretty sure everything’s bugged. I step into the shower, turn it on and pull a now shirtless Peeta in behind me.

“Okay, open your eyes.” Peeta’s eyes snap open. He goggles at me.

“Katniss-”

“It’s the best way we can talk freely,” I tell him hurriedly. “Eyes on my face!” I snap. “This isn’t... this isn’t… well you know!” I stammer out.

He seems to be barely containing laughter. Ugh. “Sometimes I forget how… pure you are.”

“ _Pure?_ I am _not_!” I say. 

“You couldn’t look at me naked in the arena, even though I was half-dead,” he reminds me. “And now you drag me to a secret shower meeting – with underwear on. Who is this convincing?”

My eyes narrow at him. “Are you trying to get me out of my underwear?”

Peeta bursts out laughing. I feel my cheeks burning. Why did I save this boy again? Of all the insufferable, immature things to do.

“Oh shut up, Peeta,” I say impatiently. “ _Shut up!_ ”

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, getting himself under control. “You know I think you’re perfect, Katniss.”

Just like that my annoyance fades to be replaced by an all too familiar guilt. Peeta keeps saying things like this. Things that remind me of his feelings for me but with no expectation that the love will be returned, not pressing me for anything. If anyone is pure, it’s Peeta. Not in the way he meant earlier, but a very real soul level kind of purity. I push the thought aside. There were more important things to think of. “What were you saying before?”

Peeta sobers quickly. “It isn’t going to work. The berries sparked it, but people don’t rise up and fight because of some berries. They fight because of years of oppression. Just look at District 12 – life’s tough enough for the merchant families, I can only imagine what it’s like in the Seam.”  He does not say it, but I know he is thinking of the day he saw me scavenging through their trash cans. The day he gave me bread. “Us acting like we’re in love – yeah it might convince some people, but for the most part the damage has been done. Whether the berries were an act of love or an act of defiance – the relevant part was the effect, not motivation.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning you could have been a lovestruck girl or a defiant protester and it wouldn’t have made a difference. What matters is that you got the better of the Capitol.”

“So we’re screwed.”

Peeta exhales and rubs the back of his neck. “Not necessarily. People are crazy angry. They want vengeance. We can’t turn back the tide.” I can see Peeta thinking hard. “I think our best bet is to change its course.”

Peeta would make a good politician. If I wasn’t leading him to an imminent death. “How?” I ask him.

“I was talking to Haymitch. Most districts are mad, but the worst ones are 8, 4, and 3.”

“How does Haymitch know?”

Peeta shook his head. “He told me the less I knew, the better. He wants us to keep our heads down and do what President Snow wants, the whole star crossed lovers act. I told him I wanted to try something different.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“If we can’t tell the districts to let go of their anger, maybe at least we can get them to hold on to it. I’m working on a speech with Haymitch, now. Something along the lines of be smart, don’t do anything that’ll get you killed. People will get what’s coming to them.”

Steam is starting to get everywhere. I’m glad. If there are cameras, they’ll get fogged up.  Audio is definitely drowned out, but you couldn’t take too many chances. “That’ll get you killed, Peeta. It already sounds like you’re planning some sort of rebellion-”

“Maybe not. Not if I make it about love.” 

I shake my head. “It’s too dangerous-”

“It can’t be any more dangerous than what’s happening now,” he argues. “I can do this, Katniss. Trust me.”

Trust me. There aren’t many people I’d trust my life with. I don’t even trust my own mother. I trust her to love me of course, but not to take care of me. I trust Prim. I trust Haymitch. I know in this instant, I trust Peeta. “Okay.”

“I’ll need your help though,” he says.

“Anything,” I answer, looking up at him.

“We need to keep up the star crossed lovers charade,” Peeta says. “I know you don’t want to-”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Peeta looks a little sad. “What about Gale?”

Was he still fixated on that? Matters of life and death at stake. If I am totally honest with myself though, I am afraid of how Gale will react. But if I’m figuring my feelings about Gale, Peeta is the last person I’d want to talk to. “I’ll handle it.”

“Okay. It’s because it’s not just the districts we need to appease – we need to keep the Capitol happy too. If the Capitol becomes unhappy with us – well, we lose value. It makes it easier for us to disappear. If we’re always front and center with the Capitol citizens, it keeps us alive. Bread and circuses.”

“What?”

“It was in an old book I read. You keep citizens happy by keeping them fed and entertained. As long as we entertain the Capitol, Snow can’t touch us.”

“Whatever it takes to keep us all safe, I’ll do it,” I tell Peeta. But even as I say the words, I feel the Capitol closing in on me. I’ll never be free again.

Peeta tentatively brushes my hair back. “Thank you.” I reach back and turn the shower off.

We both step out, me into my robe. Peeta grabs a towel and wraps it around his waist. We both step out into my bedroom. “We should get to bed,” I say, thinking of my prep team’s earlier discussion.

Peeta picks up his robe. “Yeah. I’m going to work on that thing we talked about.”

“You won’t sleep on it?”

“Trouble sleeping. Nightmares. If I’m tired enough, I don’t dream. I’m hoping the nightmares go away on their own though.”

“I don’t know if they ever will,” I say, thinking of Haymitch. He never sleeps at night if he can help it. I make a mental note to find out what happened in his games to make him hate night time so much. As if on cue, we hear a crash and a string of creative expletives. Haymitch is still in the bar car.

“Good night, Katniss.” Peeta bends to give me a kiss on the cheek.

I open the door. A startled looking attendant stands, poised to knock. “Effie Trinket sent a glass of water,” she says. “For the pills she gave you.”

Peeta – who is still shirtless - takes it from her with a bit of a devilish grin on his face. “Thanks. Here you go sweetheart,” he says handing it to me.  He winks at the attendant and walks to his room.

I follow the attendant’s gaze into my bedroom – where my dress, nightgown and Peeta’s shirt are strewn all over the floor and the bed sheets are rumpled. Under ordinary circumstances, I would have been mortified. All I can do is close the door and lean back on it – I cannot tell if I am laughing or sobbing. Maybe something in between.

The next day is less tense as there is only travelling. I try to distract myself, but there aren’t many things to do. I visit my prep team and they are more than willing to show me how to use make-up and beauty creams. I make up a game – figuring out how each instrument can be used as a weapon.

As I step off the train at District 10, I grab Peeta’s hand so hard my knuckles are white. It’s show time.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s cold, so cold. The sky is an unrelenting gray. Dark green trees tower above, keeping me from seeing what’s beyond. I have to get out, I have to save Prim. I try to leave but the fireplace burns brighter. It glows yellow, orange, red, brighter and brighter until it is alive with flame – it rushes from the mines enveloping everything in its path.

I have to get to safety. I have to get Prim to safety. I start calling her name – there is a figure across the field. I run to her. I will save her. “Prim! Prim!”

But when I reach her, it is not Prim. “Rue! Have you seen Prim?” She turns to me, gracefully. So gracefully. She jumps from tree branch to tree branch like a bird in flight. She whistles four notes and listens intently.

“No, I haven’t seen her.”

“Rue, you have to help me find her,” I say, near tears. “I have to save her.”

“Save her?” I whirl around. It is Glimmer, wearing the same gown she wore at her interview with Caesar Flickerman. “Who cares about your sister? We’re all going to die anyway.” Her voice is grating, like nails on a chalkboard. She slowly twirls her hair with her fingers.

I brush her back impatiently. I can save Rue. I mean Prim. I can save Prim, I know I can.

“Well that’s just rude,” Rue says in answer to my thoughts. “Look what I have to put up with.”

A spear is sticking through her chest. “Oh no Rue! How did that happen?”

“You put it there,” she says. “Oh no, it’s bleeding.” She sounds shocked.

“No! Don’t take it out! It’ll bleed more!” I panic, pressing the spear down.

She gasps. “Stop killing me! Stop it Katniss!”

“I’m not killing you! The bleeding has to stop!” But my hands are red with blood. I turn for help, Glimmer is there.

Glimmer just laughs – no longer pretty, her body is riddled with tracker jacker bites, a swarm of tracker jackers circle her – as if she is the hive. Tracker jackers move in and out of the holes in her skin. “Sure I’ll help!” she starts moving forward, but I jerk Rue away from her.

“No! Stay away!” I scream. The buzz of the tracker jackers are deafening.

I turn in the other direction – there is a boy.   “You! Please… will you help me?”

He turns around. It is Marvel, the boy tribute from District 1 with an arrow sticking out of his heart. The air around him is orange – like fire. “I would, but you’ll just kill me again.”  Blood is seeping from the arrow, into his hands too.

 My mouth opens in a silent scream. “I had to!”

“You shot me. It really hurt.” His voice is matter-of-fact.

“I didn’t mean to!” I scramble. “I just need help!”

 “Your quiver is empty. I can give this back to you,” Marvel says helpfully. He breaks the arrow off and tosses it to me. I watch in horror as it flies in an arc, splattering the ground below with red. I catch it. “You can use it to find Prim.”

“I can’t find Prim with a bow. I need more.”

“What then? You’ve already killed me, I just can’t help anymore,” Marvel says. “Do you want my blood?”

 As someone moves behind me, I quickly load the arrow into my bow.

“You should really watch what you’re doing with that,” another voice says coldly. I whirl around. It is Cato, with an arrow through his head. He is bigger than I remember, his arms are suddenly as big as tree branches.  He has a maniacal look on his face, eyes and neck veins bulging. “You never know what you might hit.”

“Let us help you with that,” they say. They start closing in on me – a gruesome triptych.

“No! Stop! Please! Please!” I scream and scream and scream but it’s like I’m drowning. The fog is choking and I cannot get out and there’s blood – they are shaking me and-

“Katniss! Katniss! Katniss!” Peeta. Peeta will help me. I reach for him.

“Peeta,” I whisper.

“Katniss wake up,” Peeta says. “Open your eyes. You’re safe here, with me.”

I try to raise my arms to him, but it is like lead is weighing them down. “Peeta,” I say miserably.

“I’m here, Katniss. It was only a dream,” he says soothingly.

 A dream. It was only a dream.

“I’m sorry,” I say hoarsely. I take a deep breath as I come to consciousness, shaking off the effects of the pill Effie gave me. Peeta sits at the side of my bed. He is dressed in a different shirt. One of his hands is on my shoulder, the other is on my hip. As I look down, Peeta starts to pull his hands away.

“Sorry,” he says quickly. “You were thrashing. I was trying to wake you.”

The loss of warmth is startling. I feel so cold and empty. Just like in the dream. “No,” I say grabbing his hands. I feel tears start to well in my eyes but I tamp down the feeling. I am pulling him toward me, I can’t help it. I need his warmth. “Will you stay with me? Please?”

“Yeah, of course.” His blue eyes are filled with worry, but he is so steady, so solid.

I move to the side to make room for him on the bed. As soon as he gets under the covers, he takes me in his arms. I rest my head on his chest and feel his warmth envelop me. I cannot help but think of the cave, where I first slept in Peeta’s arms. I am still in danger but at least there is still somewhere I can run to. For a few stolen moments, there is peace. My breathing slowly evens out.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” I mumble at him.

“You didn’t,” says Peeta, his hand absent-mindedly threading through my hair. “I was awake.”

“What time is it?”

“Half past three in the morning,” he says softly. “I was going around the train.”

“With Haymitch?” I remember Peeta said he was going to talk to Haymitch when he left my compartment last night.

Peeta chuckles. I feel the movement as I lie against him. It makes me lose track of the heartbeat I was so carefully listening to. “No, I left Haymitch three bottles ago. He was trying to get me to draw Effie’s breasts and I knew I had to get out of there.”

I feel a smile creep across my face. “That sounds horrible.” A conversation that is not about death or dying or fighting – it is so normal. It is a wonderful balm to the terrors that plagued my dreams.

“Oh it gets worse. When I said no, he said he’d give me inspiration – let me look at the real thing. He started looking for her – but was too drunk to actually identify her. You know that marble bust in the first compartment?”

“Yeah?”

“It was completely inappropriately groped.”

A give a small giggle. “Better an inanimate bust than the real Effie.”

Peeta makes a noise of agreement. Peeta knows how to tell jokes and entertain – he did it in interviews and even in the cave with me. That he does not continue his story now is a testament to how tired he is. I move off his chest to look at him – there are circles under his eyes too, but he seems to be fighting sleep. “You should get some rest. Big big day tomorrow,” I say, in a weak imitation of Effie.

“Will you sleep?” he asks me. I nod and settle back into his arms. We cling to each other in the darkness as the almost inaudible rhythm of the tracks lulls us to sleep. The arena has changed, but this remains.

I wake up to Effie’s familiar knock on my door. We are going to District 8 today and it terrifies me the most. I caught reports on the train, before doors were shut in my face, about uprisings going on here. If my hunch is correct, this will be the ultimate test of our act. Can we rein in an angry population? The speech did alright in District 10 and 9, but they mostly stared at us like weary cattle. Unhappy but passive. It was not a welcoming sight, but I’ll take unhappy but passive gladly over a hysterical mob, at least for now.

I move robotically through the welcoming, the brief tour. I’d hate living here – District 8 produces textiles. It is factory after factory with no end in sight. It is so urban and drab, without a single field of green in sight. The air in District 12 isn’t very good because of all the coal dust in the air, but at least we have forest lands to combat it. The air in District 8 is unchangingly polluted.

All is still but there is an overabundance of Peacekeepers. Clearly, a crackdown on any dissent is in effect. When we are brought to the square to give our speeches, the crowd is staring at us with hope. As if somehow we can save them from the white faced men who use guns and whips against them and their children.

Pictures of the two fallen tributes are projected on screen. I barely knew them, don’t even know their names. The boy died on the first day, likely in the battle at the Cornucopia. The girl died later at the hands of the Careers – and Peeta. I suddenly fear that it is wrong for Peeta to take the lead on the speech today, but it is too late. We are already at the podium.

“Ladies and gentlemen of District 8, I give you the victors of the 74th annual Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark!”

There are cheers and applause but it seems thunderous and angry; it is not the enforced celebratory mood that normally is seen on victory tours. They are chanting my name – with a vengeance.

Peeta starts. “My fellow citizens of Panem. We will not stand here and pretend this is a time for celebration.”

There are more cheers. Peeta waits a beat for it to die down before delivering his next line. “We will not stand here and give you meaningless words. What we make here and now is a promise.”

The audience is hooked. They are hanging on to Peeta’s every word.

“When Katniss and I were in the games, we dreamed of a future together. A future we were afraid we would never have. Thanks to the generosity of the Capitol-” There is silence, it is clear no one was buying that. “-we were able to emerge victorious and make our future not a certain death, but a very real possibility. But it is not just through the Capitol that lives are made better. The Capitol is the foundation that guides us, our beacon of light. It gives us guidance and protection.” I hear the booing that is going on in their heads, but it cannot be helped. If we say anything against the Capitol, we are dead. “But past that guidance, our choices are our own. It is us, each citizen of Panem that has the capacity to build better future.” This sentence has them excited once more.

“And I promise to join in the effort to build that. It is a feat that takes strength. It is a feat that takes intelligence. However, as mankind often forgets, our strongest asset is not either of these things. In the Hunger Games, Katniss and I went against tough competition…” I watch the crowd carefully as Peeta continues to talk about the fallen District 8 tributes. Some seem moved by the mention of their tributes, but most seem to want Peeta to move on. I remember that this is the district with the most population. Most of them probably had never even seen their tributes until the Games started airing. “Ultimately, what won us the games was not our strength or intelligence, but our love.” This is my cue. I reach my hand out to meet Peeta’s.

Peeta goes on to talk about how love is a changing force, how it can make the weakest man strong and the strongest man weak. Strength and intelligence do not yield to love – they are intertwined. He motions to me.

“So we stand here before you today to share with you the lesson we learned from the games. We are never in this alone. If you love someone, a father, a mother, a brother, a sister, friend, or neighbor –  they are with you. When you build that future, you have to be smart. You cannot forget about them or leave them. You cannot rush in with anger and rage.” I try to emphasize that last sentence with all my might. _Do not rush in to some crazy uprising you cannot hope to win._

Peeta gives the next part. “When you build that future, you have to be strong. It will take sacrifice and pain…” Peeta continues the speech emphasizing how strong they are to endure hardship, but will come out stronger. “Much like how coal when put under pressure becomes a diamond.”

“It is not a time for anger. It is a time for love – because only then will our strength and intelligence have direction, and with that direction, power,” I say, linking the speech back to Peeta’s words on love.

It is an almost disgustingly cheesy speech, but I hope they can read the subtext. _We can’t talk to you directly, but do not do anything. You will lose. Be smart. Stay strong._

Peeta ends the speech and we wait with bated breath. There is a smattering of applause. But nothing else.

Peeta and I go through dinner nervous wrecks. We barely speak to the others at the main table, but make a show of sneaking out for a moment alone, and returning for the dancing, dancing almost exclusively with each other.

Back on the train, we head for the bar car. Haymitch starts putting ice, fruit, and alcohol into a blender, and turns it on.

“Did it work?” Peeta asks right away.

“I don’t know if it did. Barely anyone clapped,” I reply.

“Well for starters, it’s a good sign they didn’t boo you off the stage,” Haymitch says. “So at least we know they didn’t completely hate it. And you got some cheers. But we’ll have to wait and see.”

That night, I let Peeta into my bed again. We manage the darkness as we did in the arena, wrapped in each other’s arms, guarding against dangers that can descend at any moment. Nothing else happens, but our arrangement quickly becomes a subject of gossip on the train.  I know Effie will want to lecture us, but I don’t care.

 Things are easier by the time we reach Distrct 1 and 2. We let Effie write those speeches, as the only thing important in these districts is to convince them of our love story. But Haymitch is not satisfied. On our way to the Capitol, he brings up his concerns.

“They don’t replay your full speeches when they do recaps of the victory tour. Just clips. That tells us there are things in there they didn’t like. Too political. Too dangerous.”

“What can we do?”

“Go back to our original line of defense – you’re just a couple of outrageously in love kids.”

“But we’ve been doing that,” Peeta says. “What else can we do?”

“I don’t know boy, but I know that your routine is getting a little old. Capitol citizens have ridiculously short attention spans. The press will turn if they can’t find a new story or a better angle, and they’ve focused a whole lot of time on you.” He turns the blender off and pours his concoction in glasses.  When not everything falls, he shrugs and drinks straight out of the blender itself.

“Want some?”

I cannot help but make a face. “No thank you,” Peeta and I chorus.

What could we do different? What new story could we be? We are tributes, star crossed lovers – our stories have revolved around it. And suddenly it hits me. We do not have to change the story, just make it progress.

“We could get married. A public marriage proposal,” I suggest.

“Be serious,” Haymitch replies, waving off my suggestion.

“I am being serious. It has to happen eventually, why not now?” I say.

“It does make a statement, I’ll give you that,” Haymitch says thoughtfully.

Peeta exhales. “Fine. Let’s do it. I’ll cook something up.” He stands up and disappears to his room for a long time. After realizing he isn’t going to come out any time soon, I move to knock on his door. Haymitch stops me.

“Leave the boy alone.”

“I thought he wanted it anyway.”

“Not like this. He wanted it to be real.”

That night, on the stage before the Training Center, we bubble our way through a list of questions. Caesar Flickerman, in his twinkling midnight blue suit, his hair, eyelids, and lips still dyed powder blue, flawlessly guides us through the interview. When he asks us about the future, Peeta gets down on one knee, pours out his heart, and begs me to marry him. I, of course, accept. Caesar is beside himself, the Capitol audience is hysterical, shots of crowds around Panem show a country besotted with happiness. The proposal has worked like a charm.

President Snow himself makes a surprise visit to congratulate us. He clasps Peeta’s hand and gives him an approving slap on the shoulder. He embraces me, enfolding me in the smell of blood and roses, and plants a puffy kiss on my cheek. When he pulls back, his fingers digging into my arms, his face smiling into mine, I dare to raise my eyebrows. They ask what my lips can’t. Did I do it? Was it enough? Was giving everything to you, keeping up the game, promising to marry Peeta enough?

“You’ve done quite well for yourself, Ms. Everdeen. But your tour ends in District 12, yes?”

I read the subtext of his message. It’s not over yet. But now that the end is in sight, I allow myself to feel the tiniest sliver of hope. We just might get out of this alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three or four paragraphs are from Chapter 5 of Catching fire, some lines are from the Catching Fire movie.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

My chest feels tighter and tighter as the train brings us closer to 12. It is easy to do whatever it takes to survive when facing angry crowds. It is a different matter entirely to come home and face the reality of my actions. This is almost a repeat of the train that brought us home. Except this time, I am not deceiving Peeta- At least I hope I am not. Many times I feel I am using him, but for what I cannot put a name on.

The last train ride back, we got on the train as star-crossed lovers and left barely speaking. This train ride, we board as an engaged couple – but what do we leave as?

For now at least, the cameras are still rolling. We will have to keep up the act in the district through the Harvest Festival until the cameras leave. We have to be in love to keep us alive. Reminding myself of that makes it easier to continue our deception. I don’t need to think about how people will react. I have to perform.

 “We’re here, we’re here! Last stop!” Effie cries. “Oh what a fitting ending! Just look at those crowds!”

There were masses waiting at the empty train station. I was a little startled at the mood of the crowd – they seemed happy. How could be anybody be happy at a time like this?

“Everything seems so festive,” Peeta comments, taking my hand and standing.

Portia squeals. “Not yet! Your shirt is all rumpled from the ride!” she hurries forward with a tiny silver paddle that seems to have steam coming out. 

I look down at the artfully rumpled dress Cinna has put me in. Any travel-related rumpling blends seamlessly.

“Cinna, you’re a fashion god.”

He smirks at me. “I know. Officially you designed that though. Your line is more rugged than my line.”

I had almost forgotten about my fashion line. I don’t even know what it’s called. Something like Fire by Katniss.

Portia steps back from Peeta and declares him perfect.

We step down from the train to an adoring crowd that the cameramen are in a frenzy to capture. We hold hands, blow kisses, and wave to our well-wishers. It is an adoring crowd. Of course, we come bearing gifts. The Capitol has stocked the train with food and treats for the district, most of which will be used at the Harvest Festival feast. I see the people’s eyes light up when they see the sacks of flour, sugar, coffee beans, fruits and best of all - dozens of containers of beef and chicken.

And about thirty more peacekeepers.

I grip Peeta’s hand a little tighter. Are they staying in District 12? Why are there so many of them? I didn’t see them when we got on the train in the Capitol. Visions of suddenly being abducted after the tour go through my brain. Prim being kidnapped. My mom. Gale.

My emotions for the past months have just gone between immobilizing fear and adrenaline-fueled terror. I feel my heart pounding and my hands clench. Peeta looks at me with concern. He lets go of my hand and draws me close to him. “You okay?” he whispers in my ear.

I nod. “Just a little tired from all the travelling.” Some Peacekeepers have moved forward disappearing in different directions. I spy the car up ahead. “I just need to sit down.” It is not entirely a lie – I’ve barely gotten any sleep the whole trip. Peeta can vouch for that – every night he’s woken up to my screams and cries.

“Let’s go then,” he replies. We start to lead our fairly substantial entourage – one escort, one mentor, two three-man prep teams, two stylists, and five Peacekeepers – to the convoy of cars. The feast will not be in the Justice Hall, but at the Mayor’s house.

As we drive by the city, I notice most of the Peacekeeper cars are headed towards the Seam. I worry immediately for the Hawthornes – Gale will be in the mines, but Rory, Vick and Posy will be in the Seam. I pray they are still in school. Peacekeepers wouldn’t attack a school.

But then – they’re perfectly fine watching children murder each other, so that might be giving them too much credit. 

I let myself be led through a familiar whirl of prep once we reach the mayor’s house. I am surprised that is our first stop instead of our houses. I long to see Prim, but we are to be out in public only after our grand entrance at the festival.  In other districts, we would be given a small tour of the area, but that is clearly unnecessary here. Instead, all the time is dedicated to preparing for the final celebration.

Cinna is wordlessly efficient as he measures my waistline and makes alterations to the last gown on the tour.

“Sorry,” I tell him.

“You never have to apologize to me, girl on fire,” he smiles. This is why I love Cinna. His eternal calmness and understanding. “Just lie back and think of something peaceful.”

“Does that work?” I ask, as he starts to sew. Octavia comes forward and puts cucumber slices over my eyes, forcing me to close them.

 “Sometimes.”

“Is that why you’re so calm all the time?”

“No,” Cinna says. “I am calm because I see everything as inspiration for design. Even things that would be destructive and dangerous ordinarily become beautiful.”

I always knew beneath Cinna’s stillness was an absolute madman. “Like fire?”

“Exactly.”

“And death?” Because that’s what fills my mind.

“That’s more difficult,” Cinna says thoughtfully. “Past cultures wouldn’t say die – they called it going to the great beyond. They believed in a better life after death.”

“Is it true?”

“I don’t know, but I do know this – every end gives rise to a new beginning. A new beginning always carries with it the hope that things will be better.”

“Peeta says something like that in his speech.”

“Peeta is a very wise boy.”

It is not long before I am pushed into a blue dress that leaves my arms bare. Cinna called it his goddess dress. The fabric is so soft it seems to flow.  My only accessory is a thin gold cord that is tied around my waist. As I walk, I realize why he has not given me any other accessory. Embedded in the lower layer of the dress are hundreds of tiny crystals. I shine.

This is it. This is our last chance. We are at the end of the tour. We will either continue to live – or be kidnapped and murdered by the horde of Peacekeepers that arrived with us.

We are announced. The parade of people making entrances start. Peeta and I count steps until finally, we begin our speech. It is so ingrained in my head from the number of times we have given it, gone over it, fine-tuned it. I can only hope it has been enough. Peeta is quietly convincing as he shares our lesson from the games. I try to infuse my own part with as much courage as I can muster.

“… this is not a time for anger or revenge,” Peeta says wrapping up his speech calmly. “This is a time to remember. To remember Cato’s determination. Rue’s grace. Clove’s laughter. Thresh’s strength.”

He takes my hand, in a routine we have choreographed and practiced from District 10 all the way to District 1, the Capitol, and finally here, in District 12.

“For Katniss and myself, the games began and ended with love. A love that grew only stronger because it was forged and tested in the crucible of the games. It prepared us for life beyond the arena.”

 That was my cue to step forward. “A life remembering our losses.”

Peeta again. I give my best attempt at a besotted smile as he speaks. “A life looking at a stronger and better future.”

Me. “Panem today.”

Him. “Panem tomorrow.”

Together. “Panem forever.”

We kiss once more for the camera, as it begins to move away from the stage and towards the festivities. I think there is applause. People are on their feet. The celebration in District 12 is happier than most – both compared to past celebrations and to other districts celebrations. Not only is this the first victory District 12 has had in years, but this is the only year where both tributes survived. There is no grieving family that people pretend not to see. No wailing parents. No solemn looking brothers and sisters. People are legitimately happy for us – and the extra food our district has been awarded certainly doesn’t hurt. I smile, but it is a practiced smile. My hand is clammy in Peeta’s.

We slowly make our way toward the VIP table where the mayor, Haymitch and Effie sit. My heart is pounding as I look at Haymitch. He’s dressed in a suit that is rumpled – probably on his fourth or fifth drink tonight – but clean. Effie’s doing, probably. Effie on the other hand is all bubbles and smiles in a pink and green dress.

“You were simply _wonderful_ , my darlings!” she croons. Her hair is a brilliant gold and catches the lights. It also seems to be attracting moths. “So beautiful and encouraging! Model victors!” she adds, with a pointed look at Haymitch. “What a wonderful final speech,” she says with a sigh.

Haymitch gives a loud belch. Effie cannot hide her wince. “Manners!”

I would be amused if I wasn’t so nervous. Was it enough? Please let it have been enough. I haven’t been able to think of anything else in the past two weeks. Convince me, President Snow said. It plays in my head over and over.  At the party at the Capitol, President Snow had given me no sign at all. If only we were alone with Haymitch, I would ask him all my questions. I hate the party, the crowd. There were matters of life and death at stake not just for me, but for my family. For Gale. For Peeta’s family. But I had to stay at the party and smile and wave. It was hateful. I need answers that only Haymitch could provide. He is the only adult I trust to read and navigate the politics of the Capitol. He will tell me if I have convinced the districts not to rebel.

My mentor never fails to read my mind. Haymitch chuckles and raises his glass. “Nice going, kids.” We know he is not referring to the speech.

I cannot contain my sigh of relief. I sag a little against Peeta. His arm tightens around me reflexively.  “That’s a wrap,” he smiles. He helps me into my seat. “And now you’re done speaking in public for the next year at least. Happy?”

“Overjoyed. Mostly hungry.” I am salivating at the food in front of me that looked like sandpaper a minute ago. I can breathe easy now, like the noose is gone from around my neck. Oranges and apples are sliced and arranged in tiny plates. The smell of roast chicken wafts through the air. Mashed potato. Candied walnuts.

“I think I see lamb stew over there,” Peeta says.

“Mine!” I say, reaching out at once. Peeta pretends to try to take it from me and I cannot help but giggle. _Giggle_ , I think amazed. I feel positively giddy.

Not many people know how much was riding on this victory tour.  The program continues – but all I am doing is eating. I hadn’t eaten a proper meal in days. Peeta looks vaguely amused. I take his dessert. He kisses me on the cheek.

I spend the rest of the night talking to people – everyone wants to talk to me. Reporters with cameras are everywhere. I pose for picture after picture. I seek out only two people – Prim and my mother are at the table across mine.  To my annoyance, Prim has brought her ugly cat. She insists Buttercup joins our family picture.

“So Mrs. Everdeen, I know you thought she was too young for a boyfriend – but now that she and Peeta are engaged, what are your thoughts?” a reporter asks. It is odd that my family learned about my engagement at the same time as the rest of Panem did, but it couldn’t be helped. I feel no guilt. It is not a real engagement, after all.

My mother gives a small smile. “I’d still like her to wait a few years. A long engagement.”

I make myself laugh, which given my giddy state, is not too difficult. “I told you she would need convincing.” The reporters laugh with me. Inside though, I am relieved. _Thank you mom_. I have the perfect excuse to postpone the wedding.

 “What about you, Prim? Are you excited to have a brother?” a reporter asks my sister.

She nods. “Yes. But I’m more excited for nieces and nephews to dress up and play with!”

For what might be the first time, my mother and I are in perfect synchronization. “Not anytime soon,” we say together.

Everyone laughs even harder. The reporter – I think I’ll call her Reporter 1 - is all smiles. “We’ll quote you on that.”

“On a more serious note, Katniss. Your wedding plans are already the talk of Panem!” another reporter asks me. I think I’m going to call this one Reporter 2.

“I’ve only been engaged two days!” I say honestly.

“Have you picked a wedding planner yet? Or will Ms. Trinket continue to handle all your events?”

“I think Effie would die and haunt me if she didn’t get to plan the wedding,” I answer.

“And your wedding gown will be done by Cinna?”

“I would never wear anyone else.”

“And you’ll start having kids in a year?”

“Two days! I’ve been engaged two days!” I repeat, pretending to be flustered. There are a few more questions and the interviews thankfully end.

“Thank you for your time, Katniss,” they say. “And best wishes.”

They make a beeline for Peeta who is chatting with his brothers and Haymitch near the drinks. It looks like Haymitch has officially finished mentoring. Peeta seems to be the only thing keeping Haymitch upright.

“Peeta! Could we ask you a few questions?”

Peeta is all affable charm as he nods.  “Sure, just let me get Haymitch settled.”

“Settled? Bah!” Haymitch slurs. He staggers back to the drinks. “Don’t touch my drink!” Peeta raises his eyebrows, confused.

“Katniss wouldn’t answer us about when you plan to have babies– do you have an answer for us?” one reporter asks, getting right into it.

Peeta points in Haymitch’s direction. “Sometimes it seems like we already have one! All he does is eat, sleep, and complain that Katniss and I don’t pay attention to him.”

It is unsurprising that Peeta’s interview is much longer than mine. He’s always been the more talkative between the two of us. They ask him about how he came up with the proposal, how he felt while he was proposing, what his plans are, where he wants to go on honeymoon. I allow myself to be distracted by Prim. Listening to wedding plans make it seem real and the wedding is most definitely not real.

I start walking toward Peeta as the interview tapes down, so the cameras can get shots of Peeta and I ending the night together. I wait a little off to the side.

“One last question, Peeta.”

“Go ahead, Cressida.” It figures Peeta would remember all their names.

“Victors normally can have the best things money can buy, but what hard to get item do you want as a wedding gift?”

Peeta laughs. “That’s easy. For Katniss to sing me a song.”

 “She doesn’t sing?”

“Not in a while! And her voice is the most beautiful thing I’ve heard in my _life_.”

“You’ve never asked her to sing for you?”

“No. I don’t know, I’ve always felt unworthy,” Peeta says sheepishly. “Like a little kid watching his crush from afar. Sometimes I forget she’s my girlfriend.”

“Fiancée now!”

“Right, fiancée!” Peeta smacks his forehead. “Please don’t tell her I called her my girlfriend.”

“It’ll be our little secret. But let’s see if we can’t make that happen.”

I walk into the frame of the camera. “I heard that Peeta Mellark,” I say, putting on a mock stern face.

“I’m in trouble now,” he tells Cressida. They tie up the interview and before long we are walking back to the VIP table, avoiding the dancers in the middle.

The mayor stands. “To end the night, there has been a request.” The spotlight turns to me. “Katniss, would you do us the honor of singing a song?”

Prim comes out of nowhere with a microphone and presents it to me with a smile and a flourish. Her cheeks are a rosy pink, blue eyes bright with life. She is no longer a skinny starving Seam kid, my victory has ensured that. And my actions again tonight ensure we will be safe. I think of Prim and the future she has – and I am so happy, if someone told me to do cartwheels, I probably would.

“What would you like to hear?” This time, when I hear the applause, I appreciate it.

“The meadow song!” Prim volunteers immediately as she walks with me to the stage.

“The valley song!” Peeta calls from his seat.

“Both!” someone else in the audience cries.

“Only if you all sing with me,” I tell my District. As I start to sing, other voices join in.

As the music swells around me, I cannot help but feel warm on the inside. This. This is what I fought so hard to protect. To make life for my family, the people around me just that little bit better. The paper lanterns that they have used to decorate the square seem to glow a little bit brighter. The wind is a gentle breeze. It is so peaceful and still save for the music – even the birds have stopped singing. The sky has never been so beautiful.

_Here it’s safe, here it’s warm_

_Here the daisies guard you from every harm_

_Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true_

_Here is the place where I love you_

When I wake up the next day, my happiness ebbs enough that I can finally identify what was missing from last night. Gale.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Snow continues to fall. The Victor’s Village looks so serene and peaceful but it only reminds me how far we are from the Seam. On the first Sunday after the Harvest Festival, I can bear it no longer. I have to see Gale. I prepare a bag with food and tea and gloves that Cinna left behind. I leave it at our usual meeting place and quickly form an arrow with broken twigs to show Gale where I was going to go next.

Mockingjay song fills the air as I go through the woods. It gives me some small comfort. I am fascinated by the mockingjay, even more so now because of the pin that was my token in the games. A creature the Capitol never intended to exist.  A creature that survived despite all odds.

I try to go as far as reasonably possible for a hunt, near the lake. Our old meeting spot was obviously compromised – how else would Snow know about the kiss. Gale will be upset because of the time and energy lost. If he comes at all. After some time, I reach my destination – an old house my father and I would go to. It has lasted because it was made of concrete, but there is no plumbing or electricity. It does have a working fireplace. I immediately start to build a fire using wood that my father and I collected years ago. I clean the area to occupy myself. I do not know if he will come. I do not know what to do if he does not. I do not know what to do if he does.

I allow myself to finally, finally examine my feelings for Gale. I try to predict how he will react. If the situations were reversed, if it was Gale in the Games, Gale who had to pretend to love some girl from town, Gale who came back engaged, promising to be with that girl forever – _ohh_. The emotion is so strong and so clear, even someone as emotionally stunted as I am could not miss it. It is hatred. I hate the girl. I hate him. Even if he did it to survive, Gale was mine.

Gale _is_ mine. I am his.

When I went through the games, I never stopped to think how much I would hurt Gale. Now, all I can think is how hurt I would be and how much I would hate Gale and his girl if the situations were reversed.

The thought makes me recoil. I am a terrible selfish person. No wonder I won the games – no decent person ever does.

I can never have a future with Gale. Not unless something drastic happens. I go through a mental checklist. What will it take to be with Gale? Running away - we’ll never last, Snow suddenly has a personality transplant - keep dreaming, or the Capitol itself is overthrown - impossible.

But I am selfish. I cannot lose Gale. I cannot lose my best friend.

Gale appears not long after I arrive. He has a bow, a dead wild turkey. He must have gone hunting on the way. I can read the tension in his shoulders. He looks apprehensive as he stands in the doorway, but he seems to make up his mind. He hands me the bag, unopened.

I meet his eyes. I know too well what I see reflected there. He is angry. But his temper can’t quite hide the hurt or the betrayal. It is exactly what I felt when I reversed our roles. Gale and I are the same, how could I not have guessed how he would react. How could I not have tried to do anything to save him from harm.

And suddenly, I remember the answer. You saved him from _physical_ harm, I tell myself. He may hate you, but at least he’s alive to do it.

I go straight to the heart of my defense, because no other reason will be acceptable. “Snow personally threatened to have you killed.”

Gale raises his eyebrows slightly, but there’s no real show of fear or astonishment. “Anyone else?”

“Well, he didn’t actually give me a copy of the list. But it’s a good guess it includes both our families,” I say.

It’s enough to bring him to the fire. He crouches before the hearth and warms himself. “Unless what?”

“Unless I do what he wants.”

“Marry Peeta?”

I exhale. “Maybe.”

There is nothing more to say. I am trapped.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him.

He whirls around sharply. “Sorry?”  His anger is so palpable. It is disproportionate for him to be so angry about Peeta when there was never anything romantic between me and Gale – but I understand. Gale and I are too much alike. Nothing was said because nothing needed to be said. “For what exactly?” he asks, a hard edge to his voice.

“This. Everything. It’s my fault. There’s a lot you don’t know,” I say.

“Then tell me.”

I decide to begin with the night Peeta and I were crowned victors of the Hunger Games, and Haymitch warned me of the Capitol’s fury. I tell him about the uneasiness that dogged me even once I was back home, President Snow’s visit to my house, the murders in District 11, trying to appease all the districts, the final push that was the engagement, and lastly the president’s grudging acknowledgment that we had succeeded – but that his parting words had implied things were not over yet.

Gale never interrupts. While I talk, he tucks the gloves rom the bag in his pocket and occupies himself with turning the food in the leather bag into a meal for us. Toasting bread and cheese, coring apples, placing chestnuts in the fire to roast.

“Well, you really have made a mess of things,” he says.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to fix things forever but I just seem to be making the hole around me bigger.”

We eat the food silently. It is a few minutes before either of us speak.

 “You shouldn’t have,” Gale says suddenly.

 I stare at him. “Shouldn’t have what? Tried to keep everyone alive?”

“You shouldn’t have told the districts to keep their heads down. If people were finally stopping to realize how horrible the Capitol treats us? How unfair the system is? If they had enough strength to revolt, they should have.”

“They’d just have been killed by the Capitol! The Capitol has wiped out entire _districts_.”

Gale shakes his head resolutely. “The Capitol needs the districts. We provide them with food, coal, technology. It’s stupid that the many are so dominated by the few. We’re more than they are, but if we all just banded together-”

“Saying things like that will get you killed. Get us all killed.”

“People are already talking in the mines!”

My eyes widen. “Stop it. Tell them not to.”

“Not to? We can’t continue like this! It might be easy for you and Peeta in your big fancy houses-” I gasp and Gale looks momentarily abashed but continues. “But for the rest of us, this isn’t _living_. We work, we starve, we go to the reaping, and when we’re a little older our kids go to the reaping too. Living isn’t just… not dying.”

“I’m sacrificing my future to save all our lives, Gale. I don’t know what else to do.”

“Fight! You should have fought! You’re in a position to make change happen and you’re not doing it!”

“Fight and get killed?”

“You _can’t_ be killed, the people in the Capitol love you too much. It’s the perfect protection.”

“And my family?”

“They love your sister! The moment you volunteered for her at the reaping gets played over and over. Your sacrifice for Prim defined you as a tribute. If anything happened to her, there’d be riots in the Capitol.”

“Then they’d kill you! My neighbors! People around me! Don’t you get it Gale, _you_ _can’t fight the Capitol_.”

“Yes, you can. I never thought you were a coward, Katniss,” he spits at me. “All those speeches at the games – you could have done good.”

“Even if it costs lives?” I ask incredulously. I shake my head. A rational Gale would still want to fight – but he wouldn’t disregard lives so easily. “You’re just mad about-“ I cannot say it. I cannot throw Peeta in Gale’s face.

Gale’s face twists. “About what?”

“You know Katniss,” he starts, “we’ve always been able to tell each other everything. Do me the courtesy of _not lying to me._ ”

 _Katniss,_ I despair quietly. I am losing him. _Katniss_. He never calls me Katniss.

But I will not answer him. Day in and day out televisions are full of clips of me and Peeta – in the games, on the tour, in interviews. Gale had to see me with Peeta because the Capitol forced him to. I will not add to it. I will not make him face the reality of a relationship between me and Peeta. My relationship with Peeta isn’t real.

His gaze holds mine, challenging me to say something. I look down. I cannot hold his gaze.

“I’m just mad about _Peeta_ ,” he grits out. He moves right in front of me and grabs my arms.  “That’s what you were going to say. I am mad about _Peeta._ ” The way he says Peeta’s name, it sounds like a curse.

For a few moments, neither of us speaks. The only sound is his ragged breathing. And suddenly, Gale _breaks_.

I cannot control my impulse to hold him. He shudders against me. I can feel his hands digging into my waist, he is gripping me too tight, but I welcome it. “I’m sorry,” I murmur. “I’m sorry. I never wanted us to be like this, but I didn’t have a choice.”

“I know,” he mutters back, voice muffled because his lips are still buried in my hair. “Some part of me knows – but it kills me to see you with him. Loving him.”

“It’s not real.”

“Real?” Gale repeats.  “It looks like it to me.”

I can think of no answer.

We head back to the fence and go our separate ways.

Days pass. Nothing changes. I hunt. Peeta bakes. Haymitch drinks. The snow slowly starts to melt. Gale avoids me. I see him sometimes, when I trade in the Hob. He’s thick as thieves with the boys from the mines. I hear whispers, here and there, that they’re up to no good. Doing dangerous _rebellious_ things, people say. I want to stop him, but Gale won’t listen to me. I tried and failed. I can only hope that the Capitol thinks District 12 is too small and powerless to have any actual effect.

My mother teaches Prim basic medicines. I pay attention too, I realize that as a mentor I will need to know what to send. Natural remedies will be cheaper than expensive Capitol drugs. I am afraid to do anything else, anything that will disturb this careful tentative peace. But the peace does not last long.

Prim and I are at the table, her doing homework, me updating the information on my book of plants. The phone rings. It is so rare an occurrence that Prim and I jump at the noise, startled.

“Is that the phone?” she asks.

“Yeah. I’ll go get it.”

“Good evening, may I please speak to Katniss Everdeen?” Only Effie would be so weirdly formal.

“Hi Effie, it’s me.”

“Oh hello dear! How are you?” she asks.

I wonder why she’s calling. But this is Effie. Social niceties must be observed first or I’d be in for a lecture – and I’d find out the real conversation even later. “I’m good, how are you?”

“Oh quite wonderful, but quite busy! I’ve been in so many meetings about your wedding.” Funny how there are meetings about my wedding without me. But I couldn’t care less. “There are so many decisions to be made and so little time,” she sighs.

“Effie, I don’t think my mom is going to let me get married anytime soon. And I can get married without her consent only after I turn eighteen.” Thank you, Panem law for some small mercies. The law was actually on my side for once.

“Oh please, Katniss, it will take exactly that long for your wedding to be planned! This won’t be some shoddy District 12 affair, we plan to have ice sculptures and a wine fountain and…” At times like these, I tune out Effie. I walk a little to peek out at Prim.

“Who is it?” Prim whispers at me.

 _Effie_ , I mouth back at her, covering the mouthpiece. Prim nods and goes back to her homework.

“… and of course I told her you look ghastly in neon pink, and here we are,” Effie says. “So what do you think?”

“What?” Oops, tuned out too much.

“ _Pardon me_ , Katniss,” Effie sighs dramatically. “You have to be the last say on these decisions – or at least be physically present so we can see how your dresses will look and how your skin looks with different color schemes. You’ll be going to the Capitol next week.”

The Capitol. No one just gets to go to the Capitol, you have to be invited. Most people invited to the Capitol are the tributes. I hate the Capitol. I hate its oppressive grandeur. “Oh.”

“Oh no need to sound so glum, Katniss. You won’t be away from Peeta for long. Just a week!”

“What?! Why isn’t Peeta going too?”

“Well he can’t be there while you’re fitting your wedding dresses! That’s bad luck!”

Bad luck? We first started talking because we were about to _fight to the death_. Who cares about bad luck? “What about Haymitch?”

“What is Haymitch going to do there? No, it’ll just be you. President Snow was very specific.”

Snow wants me in the Capitol alone. My heart starts hammering. “I see.”

Stupid. Stupid. I thought I’d be in the spotlight again only when the next games came along. It’s a Quarter Quell since it’s the 75th Hunger Games – I thought they’d spend time obsessed with that. I was wrong. My distant wedding is still current news.

“I’ll be there in a few days though with Plutarch Heavensbee – you remember him don’t you? I introduced you two at the party at the President’s Mansion?”

“The new Head Gamemaker?” The one who fell in the punch.

“Yes, only he’s not Head Gamemaker anymore! He’s shifting to the media side of things. The new Head Gamemaker is Horatius Aldjoy.”

“Why is Plutarch Heavesbee coming to 12, then?”

“It’s a surprise!” Effie says in her perky Effie way. Effie announces the reaping the same way. I don’t particularly trust the things that Effie is perky about. “Anyway, we’ll be there in two days, at 10 am. We’ll meet you at your house! Would you be a dear and tell Peeta and Haymitch to be there too?”

“Okay.”

“Lovely. Now don’t forget – in two days, we meet at 10 am. We will stay in District 12 for three days, then we’ll be off to the Capitol.” Effie and her schedule.

 “Got it, Effie.” We say our goodbyes. My head is spinning. What could they possibly want? I’ve never been to the Capitol alone. Without Peeta? Without Haymitch?

I need answers. I’m out the door and heading to Haymitch’s house before I know it. I barge into his house. I am so thankful that Hazelle Hawthorne now cleans his house. It no longer smells like vomit and old clothes. I find Haymitch watching television in his living room.

“Effie and Plutarch Heavensbee are coming here in two days,” I say without preamble. “Then they want me to go to the Capitol for a week. Alone.”

Haymitch looks up from his bottle of white liquor. There is a twitch in his jaw, but he does not say anything.

“Effie says she wants to meet you, me, and Peeta at 10 am when they arrive,” I continue. I sit in the chair across his couch.

Haymitch grimaces. “Wake me up an hour before.”

“Sure you want me to do it and not Peeta?”

“No. Tell Peeta to do it.” Haymitch suddenly takes a long swig of his drink, he chugs it almost all the way to the bottom. He stands up and starts looking for another one. Haymitch drinking is nothing new, but this was a lot in a one minute period, even for Haymitch.

“Can’t you come with me to the Capitol? They don’t want Peeta because of some stupid wedding superstition.”

Haymitch finds his new bottle and sits back down in front of me. He opens it with a twist and takes another drink. “Can only go when invited.” He lets out a long breath.

“Effie said President Snow wanted me to go alone, in particular. Didn’t know President Snow was such a traditional romantic.”

I am hoping Haymitch hears the subtext in my voice. If he does, he refuses to acknowledge it. As soon as I said I was going to the Capitol alone, he got surlier than usual.

“Go get a good night’s sleep, sweetheart. Or go see Peeta. There’s nothing else to do anyway.”

It is a clear dismissal. “Why? What’re you going to be doing?”

“I am going to drink. Now get out of here,” he says, practically pushing me out the door.

 It was if Haymitch could hardly stand to be in my presence. Peeta really is his favorite.

I walk over to Peeta’s house to deliver the message instead of calling him. I am too restless to be cooped up inside my house again.

Peeta’s house looks very similar to all the other houses in the district on the outside. He’s let the Capitol interior designer do most of the designs to the inside, so his house has a very sleek feel to it. The only place that really feels like Peeta is the kitchen. He’s ordered a second oven and he has so many metal and plastic cooking contraptions that it seems like a mini cornucopia. His pantry is a baker’s dream – it’s stocked with all sorts of flour and sugar and flavors and spices.

I walk in to find Peeta kneading bread on the counter. He has an apron over his clothes and has a bit of flour on his cheek. I marvel at how untouched Peeta is by all the darkness that has surrounded us since the games.

“Hey,” he says, lighting up as I walk in. “What brings you here? I think I’ve finally cracked making hot chocolate, I was going to bring you some tomorrow.”

I perch on the high stool in front of the counter. I want this domestic bliss to last for a few minutes longer. “Have you got any of it now?”

“In the refrigerator,” he says, jerking his head in the direction of the shiny silver box. “Put it in that thing,” he says pointing to a new machine, “and press the button. It should whistle when it’s done.”

I find the chocolate and follow Peeta’s instructions. “What’re you making?” I ask him.

“Cinnamon bread. I’m kneading it now so it’ll rise overnight,” he replies, not stopping kneading. 

“Don’t you have a machine that can do that?”

“I like doing it the old-fashioned way sometimes,” he says. “I think I’ve still got some of those gingersnaps in the cookie jar if you’re hungry.”

“Nice.” I put some cookies on a plate. “How much longer do you have to knead that?”

“Probably ten minutes. You want to try?” he asks. There is a smudge of flour on his cheek and a boyish eager grin on his face.

Suddenly there is nothing I want to do more. “Yeah,” I smile.

“Go wash your hands,” he tells me, wiping his own on his apron. I rinse my hands and stand in front of the dough. Peeta stands behind me to guide my hands. “Okay you want to take the dough and get as much air into it as you can. So lift the sides and fold and push…”

I end up moving the dough around. Peeta is normally so relaxed about everything but it is clear he takes kneading dough very seriously. “No, like this Katniss,” he says, grabbing my hands and moving them. “It’s dough, not a punching bag.” I am clearly awful at it, but Peeta is encouraging. After a few more minutes, we work the dough into an acceptable loaf.

“I think I’ll leave the baking to you,” I say. I turn around to face him, but he doesn’t step back. His hands are still on the counter, his body trapping me. My breath catches in my throat. We are standing so close that I notice for the first time his impossibly long eyelashes. They are so light in color that you barely notice them, but standing this close to him with the light hitting them a certain way – my heart starts hammering again, but this time in a completely different way.

The moment is charged. If either of us moved an inch forward, our lips would touch. Did I want him to move forward? There are no cameras, no audience to cater to. If we kissed, we would kiss for _us_. I am suddenly very aware of the warmth of Peeta’s body. It is so familiar to me from all our nights on the train – his warmth, his heartbeat. The feel of Peeta in front of me is new and familiar at the same time.

The whistle of the kettle startles us both and the moment is over. “Hot chocolate?” he asks.

“Love some.”

He pours it into two mugs and hands me one. “So what’s up? I’m guessing you didn’t come over here to help me knead bread.”

And my moment of domestic bliss is definitely over. I let the mug of chocolate warm my hands and gently blow on the top. “I got a call from Effie. She and Plutarch Heavensbee are coming in a couple days.”

“Plutarch, the Head Gamemaker? There’s a Quarter Quell coming up, what’s he doing in District 12?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. But Effie says he isn’t Head Gamemaker anymore.”

“Odd,” Peeta says.

“That’s not the oddest part,” I say. “They want me to go back to the Capitol with them for a week. Just me.”

Peeta’s eyes widen. “Alone?”

“Effie said something about wedding gowns and how you can’t see me in my dress.”

“I could go and not look. I don’t have to be there at the fittings,” Peeta argues. “It doesn’t feel right, you going there by yourself,” he says unhappily.

“I’m not looking forward to it either,” I tell him. I study my mug very carefully.

“You can call me every day. Any time,” Peeta offers. “Actually please do call me when you’re there– just so I know you’re alright.”

I nod.  

“Come on, I’ll walk you back. If we hang out here any longer, your mother will have my head,” Peeta says.

At 9:50 in the morning on the day Effie and Plutarch are to arrive, Peeta drags in a grumpy Haymitch. “Damn woman isn’t even here yet, and already she annoys me,” he mumbles.

“Good morning to you too, Haymitch.”

Peeta lifts up a bag. “I brought cookies.”

“Hot chocolate?”

“Next time.”

At exactly 10:00, I hear the click of Effie’s heels on the pavement and her knock on the door. She walks in trailed by Plutarch Heavensbee who seems even larger than I remember, followed by another woman who looked like his assistant. Bringing up the rear is my prep team, but no Cinna. Effie said he was busy getting all my wedding dresses ready. I was wondering why I needed more than one, but Effie just laughed.

“Hello hello!” she chirps, kissing me and Peeta in greeting. “My victors! You remember Plutarch, of course. And this is his assistant Fulvia.”

“Yes, hello,” Peeta says extending a hand. “How was the trip?”

“Wonderful, there’s something that’s just so soothing about sleeping on a train,” Plutarch says as we walk towards the living room.

“I heard you won’t be Head Gamemaker anymore.”

Plutarch laughed. “Yes, lucky to escape alive.” No one else laughed. I wasn’t sure it was even a joke. “I’m still in the entertainment industry though, I’m focusing on music, singing competitions, that sort of thing.”

“I see.” We all take our seats. My mother comes in to offer everybody tea, but quickly leaves so we can have our meeting.

“I hear you’re stealing my girl for a week, Effie,” Peeta says as everyone settles in.

“I’m sure you’ll survive Peeta. Katniss has to try on her wedding gowns!”

“Gowns?” Peeta asks. “How many weddings is she going to have?”

“They’re making a reality TV show out of it! Up and coming designers are all designing one – Cinna’s the judge, and the best one will be your wedding gown!”

“Cinna’s not designing my gown?”

“Oh there’s a secret twist to the show – in the finale, they’ll be competing against gowns Cinna himself designed. You choose your top three and the audience gets to choose the one they like best. If you don’t like their designs, just pick all the Cinna ones. We’ll shoot that episode on your last day in the Capitol.”

“Interesting,” Peeta says.

“But you can’t watch it, Peeta!” Effie says suddenly stern. “You’ll have seven years of bad luck!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“There are so many productions going on now it’s insane – the Capitol is raising revenue for the Quell. They’ve designed a new arena, new training quarters – it’s all absolutely fabulous.

Plutarch sets his cup down on the table. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m here, Katniss.”

Boy was that an understatement. “Yes.”

“Let me get right to the point,” Plutarch says. “Everybody absolutely loved your voice in the games, when you sang to the little girl from 11. And again during your victory tour! Such tone, such presence! Why our music stations were absolutely overrun for requests of your song.”

I could see where this was going. “So you want me to sing a song for the Quell?”

“Oh not just a song. And not just for the Quell. We want you to sing for the Capitol!” Plutarch says.

“We want you to sing for Panem,” Fulvia says.

No. No way. “Not in a million years.”

Plutarch and Haymitch exchange looks. “But think of your fans, Katniss!” Fulvia cries. “They’d be so disappointed.”

“It would help you get sponsors for tributes,” Haymitch says. I am taken aback that _Haymitch_ seems to support this.

“I’m not _singing_ for attention.”

“My dear, President Snow himself suggested this as a talent for you to pursue. It will be something to keep you busy as well before your big wedding.”

In that moment, the discussion is over.

I hear the message loud and clear.

_You’ve subdued the districts, but nothing has changed. You are entertainment. Show up when they say show up. Sing when they say sing. Marry when they say marry._

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is very appreciated!


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